Today, in preparation for my mother's visit this weekend, I found myself in Belltown near Zach's office, running some errands. Since it was nearly lunchtime, I stopped by my new favorite bakery, bought myself a sandwich and both of us cookies, and came by his office to eat lunch.
While there, Zach's immediate supervisor, whom I'd never met, passed his office and Zach introduced me to her.
I was raised to value a handshake. Hell, I was raised to base most of a person's character on the duration, force, thrust, command, and dexterity of his or her handshake. Perhaps it's a Southern culture thing. It surely put me at odds with most Midwesterners growing up, since they seem to think of handshakes as opportunities to break one another's bones. But, out here in Seattle, my "commanding" handshake, which my father (and his father) made me practice growing up, has caught most Pacific Northwesterners by surprise... I think handshakes are seen as an "old school" formality here. Most people are momentarily shocked when I try to shake hands. Some ask incredulously what I'm doing, as if I'd suddenly stripped naked and started singing Wagner operas backwards at the top of my lungs. Occasionally, I find a Midwestern bone-crusher or a cordial Southerner.
And occasionally, I'm also apparently caught off my guard and forget one important step in the handshaking experience. Zach's immediate supervisor experienced this firsthand when I, attempting to shake her hand after lunch today, forgot to aim.
I gave her wrist a firm handshake.
As I then apparently turned bright red, and Zach's immediate supervisor looked like she'd just touched something dirty, Zach himself broke the awkward silence by erupting in a fierce fit of laughter. In the confusion, Zach's supervisor slipped away to move to another country. One of Zach's co-workers witnessed the wristshake, however, and came over to offer her sympathies for my lack of coordination. Still mortified (and quite busy hatching plots to kill Zach, since he was still desperately clutching his chest in a vain effort to stay the flow of gut-splitting guffaws from his lungs), I put my brain on auto pilot and extended my hand to shake hers. Oddly enough, she took it.
She tried to compliment me later on the power of that handshake, but I was too busy trying to sprint to an exit to hear her.
Posted by James at August 16, 2007 10:22 PM